it
by intergalacticbooty
Summary: For wrestlingkinkmeme. Dean kept as Seth's toy. Warning: Noncon and darkfic. There will be a sequel.
It waits for Him, patiently. Everyday. Its life has no meaning if He is not there. It has no purpose, if he isn't using it.

It lays across the mat that serves as its bed, fondly running across the course cotton of sheets. It has lost count of how long it has been His. But that doesn't matter, especially now since the time before Him are fading.

Still, sometimes, it remembers it once had a name. A name besides 'pet' or 'slave' or 'fucktoy'. Things were much more complicated back then, it remembers. It remembers wearing clothes back then. Leather, cheap and dirty, so unlike the clean and pristine leather He wears. It remembers body hair, across its chest and arms and legs and base of its useless cock. It even remembers having some on chin.

It only has hair on its head now, long hair. He makes sure of that, the only time it bathes is when He makes it clean and hairless again. It had short hair at one point, but now it's hair is almost as long as His, falling in a curtain of red and brown that He loves to tug and yank when it becomes useful for him. It's ratty, greasy most times and can't compare to the gorgeous black and blond of His.

Those days, the days of clothes and arguments with Him and blurry faces of Others makes it nervous and want to cry. Back then, its life was so difficult, so complicated. He has made it simple. Has given it a purpose.

"Oh pet…" He calls for his possession, it quickly rising to its knees on the hardwood floor. Finally, its heart nearly beating out of its chest, it can be of use.

He runs his fingers down through its hair, tugging at the growing locks before sliding His hand down to its fuckhole, slipping three fingers inside. It's still wet and stretched from being used early, His come still damp. It doesn't speak. Doesn't even shutter or move because a toy doesn't talk. He had taught it that early on, whipping the memories of Before Him out of its mind swiftly and calculating. He is so brilliant. It is stupid, ugly, worthless, but it has purpose to be used by him.

"Mmm, still so wet…guess I could just use you, now…" He purrs, his voice a nasally rasp as it bows its head, face laying against the hardwood as the sound of His belt being unbuckled fills its ears. And then it's full, so full, being stretched and fucked like a good toy should be. "…such a good little pet. Fuck…this hole is mine, ain't it?" He tugs at its hair, pulling its body into a tight bow. It used to hurt to be bent like this, but it has become a good hole as time has gone on.

It doesn't speak, never allowed to speak, only to nod and to grovel and to serve. It doesn't think it can speak anymore, but it is so happy to be useful for Him, to make itself have meaning, that it breaks the most important rule sir has given him. "Y-Yes…puh…please…" It rasps, its throat raw and rough from being fucked by His cock. But the misuse of its voice, sounding foreign to itself and it knows it has let Him down when he stops moving.

He chuckles then, sliding out far too quickly and it falls back on its face, surely bruising its cheek at the force of it, bowing and groveling at his feet. 'Please still use it. It will be good. It is all yours. Please. Please don't leave it.' It knows no to speak this, just chants it within its useless brain.

"Look at that, so it speaks…" And it's being yanked up by its hair, feeling so unworthy to be looking into his beautiful eyes, the sunlight peeking in through the small window creating halos around its owner. "Toys don't speak, do they?" A slap, hard. And it takes it without a sound. "They get fucked. They get shoved full of cock and come and don't utter a single fucking word." A kick then and it takes it, not wondering how something as weak as it can stand the strong blows of Him.

Cock is shoved down its face fuckhole, full and hard and rough and it can taste dried come on its tongue. So lucky to have Him. What would it do without Him?

"Fucking take it, god, your fucking throat…" Gargling, gagging, His cock being shoveled deep inside until stomach acid rises, but He doesn't stop. Of course he doesn't, he doesn't have to stop for the bodily functions of a toy. So He fucks through the spit and the stomach acid, shoveling that throbbing length down into its gullet, coming deep and filling it with His Sweet Seed. "Fucking useless little fuckhole…such a dumb piece of shit…" His voice is a coo and it knows it is in trouble, but He is giving praise, petting at its hair. "Never supposed to talk…" Fingers thick in its mouth, tugging at its bottom lip. "…toys don't fucking talk." He smirks then, the gap between his teeth causing its heart to flutter. He is so good to him. "No dinner tonight. I'm done using you for now."

That's more than fair, thankful for such a tame punishment despite such a large offense. It settles back into its mat, preparing for the next time it can be useful.

* * *

After that day, it starts having dangerous thoughts. After hearing its own voice, the toy's stupid head begins to meander into the Time Before Him. It's horrifying, because being without Him is having no use. And it needs to be used. Because fucktoys that aren't used belong in the trash. It is lucky to have Him, Him having expressed multiple times how it is the worst of fucktoys, so useless and ugly.

It wonders, though, what it looked like Before Him. It only sees its body, nor mirrors in the bathroom, He blindfolds him when he is in the bath, the only window too high up for it to reach even if it stands on the tips of its toes, and its face...it cannot remember it.

He arrives soon, a grin across His lips, spreading wider when its stomach makes a howl sound. He drags it up to meet his gaze by its leash. "Now, you better not fuck up like you did yesterday." It nods furiously, hurting its neck as its eyes flutter rapidly in His presence. "Fuckin'…" He cackles then, pushing it down by its face, hard onto the floor before he drops stale bread onto the floor. Its hand twitches, desperately wanting to reach out for it, but not without His permission.

He steps on the bread a couple times, the dirt of His soles a holy condiment before He motions for it eat and it does, hungrily shoving it down its face fuckhole. It's still chewing when He slips His thick fingers inside, stretching and probing its rather loose hole. It's gotten looser the longer it has been His.

"Fucking yeah, fuck…" He growls in its ear as he slides inside, wet and wide, spreading it far. It isn't supposed to enjoy this, it's only a toy with no feeling, but its Owner is hitting something deep inside and it finds itself bucking back, wanting more of Him until there's a punch against the back of his head. "…stupid fucking shit, don't move!"

How could it forget? Toys don't move. Toys take it and it becomes lax, head down against the ground as a throbbing pain spreads from where He rightfully hit him.

Soon it is filled with His come, thighs trembling beyond its control as He slides out, before replacing His cock with his fist. Spreading it wide, but it still finds pleasure despite the pain it feels. Because it is being used for His fist. And he is smiling. "Fucking take it…" 'It will always take it for you, master' "Stupid little cunt" 'It is so stupid, so useless, use it's holes more, please'.

It becomes too much for the toy, its master's words causing a bubbling feeling inside it and it feels wet, hot stickiness explode from between its legs.

Its master is furious. Its master gives it a 4 hour ice bath. Its master leaves it alone that night with no lunch or dinner. It cries for the first time as its Owner's words echo through its ears.

"You keep this shit up and I will get rid of you." He growled, the noise causing it to cower. "Fucking useless shit."

When He returns that morning, He shoves food down its throat, chuckling to it as it licks at his fingers. "Need to keep my toy in line, need to keep you mine." His voice is quiet, His gaze distant.

He takes it without stretching it open, the burn making it feel as if it's ripping in two. But it doesn't protest, doesn't make a noise. "Fuck, yes, so fucking perfect…nice and tight, damn…" He spills inside of it and it almost hums, feeling so good…so full of Him.

Then He's choking it, pulling on its leash high and it passes out, a small smile gracing its face fuckhole as He grins at the crumpling form.

It may not be smart, on the contrary, but it knows His voice. Knows everything worthwhile about Him. And that is why it is startled when it hears another voice that is not His. It scrambles up from its mat, knowing that it will get into trouble for being so nosy, will be hit and harmed but its mine has been going all different avenues and breaking so many rules.

That voice. It's familiar to it. And it's sad, so sad, and through the muffled sobbing it wants nothing more than to find the source of it, to comfort whoever has this voice. This voice means family. This voice means home to it. And this voice is not His. But it is a voice that means a lot to it.

"It's been three fucking years, Seth, and he's…no leads, no nothin'." Anniversary of Dean's disappearance, and it still haunts Roman. Still keeps him up at night and causes him to wake in cold sweat. Because his brother, his uce, is gone. He knows it isn't fair to depend on Seth so much, use him as a substitute for Dean, but the uncertainty is killing him. Probably more than if they had a body.

"I know, Rome, fuck do I know. But we have to continue our lives as is." Seth cracks open a beer for his distraught friend-turned-enemy-returned-friend. "Y'know, he wouldn't want us to be dreading like this. Wherever he is…we just gotta keep trunkin'."

"I just miss Dean so much." And it's said in a loud, almost sob. Seth freezes then and his hand clenches onto his beer, leaning away from Roman who sits at his kitchen table, eyebrows drawing down tight as he tenses. "Sorry, man, I know you don't like hearing his name.

"It's…it's alright, man." Seth sighs then, feigning remorse. "Just wish he and I had parted on better terms"

'Dean' plays on its tongue. It had heard anything. Him talking with that familiar voice, that warm voice. And suddenly it clicks. And it's pushing against the door, trying to get free because it needs to, gasping out quietly when it realizes it is open. He trusted it to stay place, to not move from its rightful place. Toys don't move on their own.

He will surely abandon it for this, but it needs to reach that voice, wanting to be surrounded by it. It stumbles, legs weak from the assault, feeling a warmth and pain and ache burst through its backside from His usage earlier. It finds the bathroom, the one it is always washed in. The tub his black with dirt and grime and it stares, feeling something sick bubble up inside.

"What's that noise?" It hears from the familiar voice, clearer and closer and it fights the urge to run down and roll in that voice.

"Just Kevin, being the scoundrel that he is." He replies. Kevin was allowed to go free in the house. He wasn't a toy like it is.

Slowly, it refocuses back on its task, head spinning as it approaches the mirror hesitantly, legs trembling. It finds itself sweating. "O-Oh God…"

Memories flash as it sees wide, droopy blue eyes, red and brown hair too long, far too long. There are bags under its eyes, two bruises across its face, a split lip, and it finds itself too thin. Far too thin. It was always slender, even Before Him, but it was sickly now.

More memories. Roman. Roman was that familiar voice. The Shield. Wrestling. It was a wrestler Before Him. It was strong and powerful and it had fought Him Before Him.

Then it thinks more, concentrates, tries to remember because it has a name. It is Dean. Dean is a him, with that abused and bare cock hanging between it…his legs. It has scars on it from disobeying.

Dean remembers, remembers the gun to his head, the wild eyes of Him, of his Owner. Remembers that He told him Roman was already dead and Dean knew he had nothing to live for. He remembers being held that night, being taken by him. Being stuffed full of His cock and come. It was his first night as a fucktoy.

"Kevin sure is making a lot of noise…your stairs are creaking too much." Romans says nonchalantly, swigging more at his beer as Seth cooks steak on the stove top, back to the door that leads from the upstairs staircase. The Samoan is toying with his phone, messaging his wife to let her know he's okay and catching up with Seth, when he feels eyes on him.

Blue eyes. Wild, lunatic eyes. Only these eyes are much more wild, looking sunk and lost and broken and before Roman's mind can even process what's before him, he's on his feet, gasping. "D-Dean…" Bruises, cuts, scars, and he can't be more than 160 lbs….looking so frail, so unlike himself. There's a tightly buckled collar around his throat, having rubbed the skin there nearly raw. "…w-where…what?"

And Seth is nearly vibrating, Roman can feel the tension and suddenly pieces begin to click and he glares over at Seth.

"I was Seth's fucktoy."


End file.
